Enraptured
by AMiserableLove
Summary: Lieutenant Duckling—It's supposed to be a quick trip to a foreign kingdom, trivial affairs handled by his brother before the real adventure begins. Everything's flowing accordingly, affairs unfolding as expected. That is until she comes into the picture. Golden and beautiful, defiant and stubborn. He tries to resist her. But the harder he fights it the faster he becomes enraptured.


Lieutenant Duckling AU—"Enraptured" Part 1

_So this is part one of my Secret Santa gift to the lovely Leah aka emmaxkillian—sorry for the lateness *headdesk*  
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_P.S.- sorry for Killian's somewhat stalker like tendencies! :)  
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_Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT._

_I'd love reviews guys! :)_

_****__ ~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

Killian Jones is not like other men.

It's a fact he prides himself on.

Sure, he lives in his older brother's shadow, only a few years into his twenties he is nothing more than a lieutenant to his Captain.

But as the _Jewel of the Realm_ sets sail, the crew coming alive and the wind picking up around him, Killian thinks, as the blood roars hot in his veins and something bordering on wild sparks to life inside of him, living in his brother's shadow is perfectly fine with him.

For now.

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

"A rare plant." Liam tells him when he questions their newest assignment—the seas a bit rocky, tossing the younger less experienced crew about. "With unheard of magical abilities."

Narrowing his eyes and turning his words over in his head, Killian braces himself as a particularly strong wave crashes into the ship, watching with admiration as his brother pays the rocking deck no attention, moving about the ship with purpose to his step—the older man's face alive with bright and unmistakable excitement.

"And where are we expected to find such a plant brother?" he yells to his retreating form, his voice barely carrying over the howling of the wind.

Liam only smiles at his question, making his way to the helm as he shoots a look over his shoulder, his grin widening when Killian merely gives him an exasperated sigh before following.

"A place so enchanted, so secret_,_ that I'm under direct orders not to tell you…_yet."_

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

Finding the mystical plant is not their first and only stop.

Before their true adventures begin, they sail to a foreign land to tend to some rather trivial affairs their king has requested Liam see to before departing on their more trying journey.

It's a place he's never been to but has heard of no less.

A place that is widely known throughout many lands—legend and myth, fact and fiction, mingling together to create a great and heroic tale of a wicked queen darkening the land and outcast lovers turned beloved rulers conquering her evil and saving the entire kingdom in the process.

Walking down the docks, taking in the sights of the lively harbor hustling and bustling around him, Killian listens with slight curiosity as they are welcomed enthusiastically…

The Enchanted Forest is as beautiful and cordial as legend portrays it.

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

They are greeted as guests of honor.

Snow White and her prince turned king are kind and hospitable hosts.

But as Killian's eyes wander the great hall as he stoically and dutifully stands by his brother's side, he pushes back the passing urge to flee—his desire to set sail, to smell the salt of the sea and feel the wind in his hair not uncommon whenever they are fixed to stay on land for longer periods of time.

Scanning the crowd that has gathered around them, his spine straight and rigid as he stands to attention, he stiffens even more as his eyes fall on a figure that lingers just across the room. His heart stopping for a beat before hammering almost painfully once again; his eyes narrow fractionally and his vision dims out around the edges as his gaze focuses somewhat hazily—lashes fluttering and blinking rapidly.

Dimly, almost numbly, he thinks of sonnets and poems about fallen angels and heaven on earth; the over romanticized words ringing in his head before he quickly pushes the thoughts aside—his severe and strict inner voice screaming for his attention.

But as the candlelight illuminates her face and her eyes drift to his, the voice weakens out to a mere whisper and quite suddenly he forgets how to breathe.

Quite suddenly he feels_ alive._

Yes, they're greeted by the king and queen in the warmest of fashions.

But at that moment, as their eyes meet and the world around him fades away, he feels more like an unwilling prisoner, suddenly held captive, than a free and honored guest.

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

_Emma._

Her name is Emma.

She's the princess of the happy and thriving kingdom, just months past her eighteenth birthday she's the apple of her mother and father's eye.

Adored by her people, she's protected, loved, and cherished.

She's like no other girl he's ever known.

Beautiful and golden, feisty and spirited.

She's the type of girl who leaves an impression on a man.

Eyes that see too much and knowing smirks that linger just a little too long.

She's absolutely fascinating.

And if he's not careful…

She's going to get him killed.

_Emma._

Or the Swan Princess—as she was so lovingly nicknamed by her people, for her beauty surpassed even their greatest of expectations—is untouchable to a simple and lowly naval officer such as he.

Still, with their time in the Enchanted Forest dwindling down to a mere fortnight, and something inside of him almost desperately calling out to her, he can't help but look….

And look.

_And look._

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

He doesn't believe in love at first sight.

The notion is for fables and fairytales. He's too self-aware,_ too disciplined,_ to allow himself to fancy such thoughts.

But even he can't deny the spark that lights his skin every time _she_ enters a room—confidence in her step and a slightly bored expression flitting across her delicate features.

No, he's too stiff and rigid and conservative to believe in love at first sight.

Lust on the other hand…

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

_"_You've been quiet brother."

Ripped from his thoughts, images of sun-kissed hair and bright green eyes dancing in his head, Killian looks up from his meal, gaze darting to Liam and a knot pulling in his gut as his stare narrows fractionally_—_the note of concern woven into his tone lingering in the air between them as his brother continues to look at him hard, eyes searching imploringly, suspicion stamped across his somewhat regal features.

"You seem on edge…restless."

He can't deny it's an accurate observation.

Forcing a tight smile, keeping the rest of his expression impassive, Killian wills his eyes not to wander; a slight movement to his right, where the royal family is seated, nearly breaking his concentration—the blurred image of gold and silk almost undoing him completely.

Gods but she's enchanted him.

Bewitched him.

Captivated him.

And she's never even bloody spoken to him.

Feeling somewhat foolish, something deeper inside of him sparking with slight anger, hissing at him for his mindless infatuation and calling him out for his less than honorable thoughts about the pampered and privileged poppet, he clenches his fists tightly, allowing his smile to widen a little as he pushes away the taunting voices in his head and instead focuses his attention on his brother_—_young and beautiful princesses be royally damned.

"This kingdom is tiring…I'm merely anxious to get back to the sea."

And he wonders, as he hears the muted tones of her low and somewhat husky voice speaking softly at the nearby table, how a statement can ring so true and yet feel so false.

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

He can't stop watching her.

He doesn't want to stop.

He's a decorated officer, skilled and trained, and yet, this princess, this mere slip of a girl has gotten under his skin like no other woman has.

The finest of courtesans, the most talented of prostitutes, all pale in comparison to the lively glow, the untouched innocence of the princess that haunts him.

So no, he can't stop watching her.

And as his time in the Enchanted Forests continues to lessen…

He doesn't even try.

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

Fresh air.

It's the only thing on his mind when he slips past his brother and steps outside_—_the castle walls have become too thick, the atmosphere too stifling.

A simple turn about the grounds is all he desires.

So he isn't prepared for the sight he stumbles upon when rounding the guarded brick wall and turning the corner. With his eyes cast down and his mind on the sea and the ship that awaits them in the harbor…he almost misses her.

_Almost._

A flash of movement to his right and the sound of cheers and whispered words of shock and approval drifting to his ears, he looks up suddenly, his eyes somewhat curiously seeking out what's causing such a deliberate spectacle.

_Emma._

She's sword-fighting.

A small crowd is gathered around her; servants and nobleman alike, apparently all coming together to watch the golden princess in action. And unable to look away, unsure he could even if he tried, he discreetly separates himself from the casual onlookers and instead watches on from the cover of a group of nearby trees.

She fights like a hardened warrior.

Her movements quick and sure and ruthless; she unarms opponent after opponent, her technique impressive, brutal and brilliant.

Hiding in the shadows, his eyes drink in the sight of her. Blonde curls pulled back and away from her face, cheeks flushed a light and becoming pink, and eyes, vibrant and green, shine with an inner light so bright that it almost takes his breath away.

She's a vision to behold.

Watching as the brawny soldier she has chosen as her latest adversary is knocked to the ground, her blade mere inches from breaking the skin of his neck as she places a booted heel firmly on his upper torso, he feels a swell of pride in his chest as she huffs out a breath before backing away from the defeated man with a demure nod and a feminine smile gracing her features_—_the soft movement almost mocking her calculated actions from moments before.

She's perfection in its finest form.

Eyes scanning those around her, she wipes her brow, and shifts her grip on her weapon before walking towards the middle of the open field, her steps light and her blade raised high as she turns and nods her head somewhat briskly_—_the thirst for fight glimmering in her focused gaze.

"Again!" she calls out. Her voice loud and clear lingers in the crisp morning air and a slight shuffle coupled with a soft murmur ripples through the crowd as her challenge echoes___—_beckoning, luring,_ seducing, _yet another opponent.

And with the sound resonating in his head, the image of the wind rippling through her hair, her sword slashing wildly and victory shining in her eyes, Killian turns, taking quiet and unnoticed leave.

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

The queen shoots him knowing glances.

The king glares at him with suspicious looks.

His brother stares at him questioningly.

And the princess continues to proceed with her life as though she doesn't even know he exists.

It's only the latter observation that has something darkening ever so slightly inside of him even as the flames of longing continue to roar.

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

Sometimes he thinks he's not the only one doing all the watching.

It's a rare occasion, only a handful of times really, but every once in a while, if he's careful, he'll catch her gaze—eyes looking at him hard, her expression emotionless, something unreadable glimmering in her stare.

Sometimes she'll glance away when she draws his attention, a becoming blush spreading up her neck and across her cheeks.

And sometimes, on days when she seems much less like the guarded and carefully protected girl that she is and so much more like the all too knowing and clever woman she'll likely become, head held high, chin tilted upwards defiantly, she'll stare him dead on, refusing to break eye contact, the way her chest heaves ever so slightly, the way her eyes_—_the perfect combination of sea and sky_—_look right through him, nearly undoing him completely.

And he knows, as he feels his heart surrender fractionally, his body calling to her loudly, that he's a bloody, _bloody_, fool.

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

"I know you watch me."

Killian doesn't know whether to thank the gods above for his good luck or curse the demons of hell for his poor fate when he finds her in his arms, spinning around the dance floor during a ball held in honor of a visiting ambassador.

She's looking at him like she knows his deepest secrets, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smirk as her eyes, tinted with just the faintest hint of gray, gaze up at him with a twinkling glow. Her hands, small but strong, hold onto him firmly, her body lithe and slender, is pressed against him tight___—_the closeness with which he's holding her is probably not entirely proper but not necessarily indecent either.

"I can feel your eyes on me constantly lieutenant." Her voice is low and raspy, the sound dragging his attention back to her words.

And he swallows over the sudden lump in his throat, when what she'd said finally registers and his steps falter as his cheeks redden and burn; his reaction seemingly delighting her as she chuckles loudly—her laughter filtering across the crowds and drawing the attention of both the king and his brother—the latter looking at them curiously while the former narrows his eyes in suspicion.

"I'm sure you're mistaken," he says finally, collecting himself and shifting his grip on her, his tone surprisingly neutral even as his heart begins to beat unnaturally fast.

She's not so easily thrown.

Of course she's not.

Merely raising a delicate brow at his denial, her gaze flits from his eyes to his lips and then back up again—the action slow and cruel and completely intentional. "When I'm training, when I go out riding, when I'm taking my meals in the great hall, or when I'm simply walking around the grounds…I can feel your eyes lieutenant._ Watching._ Always watching…"

She lets the sentence hang, her chin lifting slightly, her stare darkening challengingly.

And gods, if he were smart he'd ignore her.

If he were smart he'd look away.

If he were smart he'd give her his apologies and bow out of the dance and go somewhere far, far, _far _away.

He's a stupid man.

"I've much more important things to do than watch a spoiled imp of a girl fritter around the castle grounds." He says quickly, through gritted teeth; the rash words out of his mouth before he can think them through.

Grip tightening unconsciously with his sudden and unexpected anger, he acknowledges somewhat begrudgingly that his outburst is laced with almost unbearable embarrassment; the thought of her being aware of his twisted infatuation burning something deep inside of him_—_a voice in his head warning him of his place, reminding him in hissing and panicked tones of exactly who she is.

Yet…

She doesn't seem offended by his harsh statement, nor does she seem to mind his firmer hold.

Instead of objecting and creating a scene, she laughs again—that musical and light laughter that gains the attention of those around her—and shifts her body closer ever so slightly.

And he knows as her scent drifts up to his nose and his body welcomes the feeling of hers pressed against his, anger fading away, and something akin to lust and want taking its place, that he never really stood a sodding chance.

Another lovesick prisoner on the princess's surely endless list of captives…

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

The first time he fantasizes about her, he pictures taking her on her royal throne; layers of skirts hoisted around her hips, a shimmering crown placed delicately on her head, and her chin tilted upwards as she rides him into oblivion—his name tumbling from her lips as she arches against him, his mouth busy against her bared breasts as she clenches around him.

And with the vision, vivid and erotic, replaying over and over again, her nails digging into him, his fingers snaking under her skirts to grip her ass more firmly, he comes, spilling his release into his jerking hand, her name, _Emma…_just Emma…bubbling up from his throat—the husky sound, a combination of a curse and a prayer echoing in his ears, his desire and longing left unsated.

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

In the evenings, when the castle is quiet and most of the court has dispersed, Liam talks of the plant they are set to track down for their king—his voice wistful as he speaks of the mysterious land he cannot name.

Sipping the one pint of ale he allows himself before turning in each night, Killian welcomes the bitter taste and tunes his brother out, his words a harsh reminder that they'll be leaving the Enchanted Forest soon.

And trying not to linger too much on the despairing fact, unwilling to consider the ball of dread that only intensifies with each day their impending departure draws closer, he attempts to ignore the mocking voice that whispers in his ears, asking him why he cares and accusing him of growing soft, even as his head taunts him with images of the princess—_golden and beautiful_—he's spoken to only a handful of times.

And closing his eyes briefly, a tiny part of him admitting defeat, his fingers twitch as he remembers what it was like to hold her.

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

"Come riding with me lieutenant, I need a chaperone."

Her voice carries throughout the wide corridor she's found him in, and his eyes immediately dart to the handful of servants that linger in the hall who hurriedly pretend to busy themselves with sudden and nonexistent chores.

Trapped.

Cornered.

_Terrified._

Clearing his throat, he offers her his most winning smile, bowing slightly before straightening fully, "I hardly think a naval lieutenant is an appropriate chaperone for a young and pampered princess." He says evenly, offhandedly, somewhat pleased by his slightly bored tone while also more than a little curious about the side of him that wants to see her defensive and angry—dimly acknowledging that the last part was thrown in just to rile her up.

"Oh?" she sounds surprised; and somewhat absently he realizes that this is their first conversation since the night of the ball, his body tensing as he remembers the feel of her slender body pressed against his.

"Aye milady. I don't suppose a mere sailor would be the proper choice for a defenseless young woman such as yourself." he says it with a smile, noticing the way his voice has lowered fractionally, the sound of the servants around them fading away as her eyes narrow suddenly, forming two tiny slits.

They both know she's anything but defenseless.

And holding his breath, realizing he's playing with fire and tempting fate, he waits her to strike.

But, surprisingly, _disappointingly,_ she doesn't take the bait, not really, and it shocks him—most woman of privilege would have stomped their feet and huffed away when insulted, even if only indirectly.

No…

If anything she only grows more determined.

And quickly, he comes to realize that a determined and somewhat scorned princess is truly a frightening thing indeed.

"Do you dare defy your princess?" she murmurs softly, dangerously, taking a step closer, her morning gown brushing his legs as she draws even nearer.

And she's close.

So close.

Too close.

_Take. Possess. Conquer._

His skin suddenly heated and his fingers anxious to touch, he stares down into her endless green eyes, desperately attempting to ignore the dark voices in his head that are whispering for him to just take what he wants—shocked they are even there—while frantically trying to remember the code of honor he swore to uphold.

"Sweetheart…" the endearment slips before he can stop it, his tone soft and low and velvet smooth. And he watches as her eyes widen slowly and her lips part ever so slightly at the somewhat unfamiliar sound. "You are not mine to defy."

A poorly worded statement.

He means it in the sense that he is not a part of her kingdom, she is not truly _his_ princess to serve.

But as their eyes hold and he continues to register the closeness of her body to his, he can't help but wonder if she picks up on the fact that maybe he means more…

She is not his.

And she never will be.

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

Killian Jones is not like other men.

Nor is he some green and inexperienced lad.

He's had his share of soft and willing women and is no novice in the art of seducing the fairer sex. Although he prefers to play the game discreetly he is well versed in the rules—his days of turning red in the cheeks and stuttering and shaking every time a pretty face swishes by in a frilly skirt are over.

Unfortunately the object of his affections isn't just another pretty face.

No, Killian Jones is not like other men.

Just as Princess Emma is not like other women.

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

_Deception._

There's something in the air…something that rings false—the atmosphere forced and phony.

It's taken him awhile to place it, accept it, and realize it; since coming to the Enchanted Forest his keen observation skills have seemed more sluggish and less scrupulous than usual—a fault he places squarely on soft and delicate shoulders, shielded by long and golden hair.

But as he walks around the castle grounds, as his eyes look past everything that's been carefully laid before him—a thriving kingdom, a loving family—he can't help but pick up on the telling signs of a well placed sham.

The queen's eyes look tired and sad.

The king's expression is hardened and alert.

And the princess, past the carefree stubbornness of a young woman born to privilege and power, he see,_ finally sees—_through the veil of lust and admiration that's blinded him—to a weary determination unsuited for a girl so young, so full of hope and promise.

There's a part of him that wants to call them all out, cry foul, and demand answers.

But another, quieter part_,_ reminds him that he is leaving soon…

This is not his kingdom.

Not his concern.

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

Stepping out of the council room, Killian straightens his jacket as he takes his leave.

He's been dismissed, his brother and the king and queen have some private business to discuss—business a mere lieutenant is not fit to sit in for. Usually he'd feel burned by the callous dismissal but his mind has been elsewhere as of late and he had found his attention wavering for the short time he'd been in the room…talks of foreign affairs and an impending uprising in the west barely stirring a spark of interest within him.

And he refuses to acknowledge exactly where…or rather _whom_…his thoughts had been on.

Turning the corner, he stops short when he see _her_ standing by a large tower window. She's standing still, barely moving, barely breathing, looking out of it and watching seemingly nothing at all. And with the morning light filtering in on her and casting her in a muted glow, he can't help but stare for a moment, taking in the sight of her ethereal beauty.

They're leaving in a few days; and he truly believes, past all the protesting in his mind, that it's not soon enough…there's a somewhat sinister longing still rising inside of him, one that grows stronger by the day.

He'd be lying if he said it wasn't rattling him down to his very core.

He needs to get away from her.

From everything he wants but will never be able to have.

He's about to turn around, about to sneak away like the coward he is, when she heaves a quiet sigh; lifting her chin she turns her attention towards him, appraising him with an even and thorough stare.

"There's a war coming you know."

He pauses, both surprised and curious by her blatant statement, briefly considering the hushed conversation he had just left; his brother and the king and queen's words about riots in the neighboring kingdom west of the Enchanted Forest ringing in his ears. And leveling her with an inquiring look, ignoring the urge to run, he clasps both hands behind his back and slowly approaches her.

"Your kingdom is at peace."

Turning away from the window, she crosses her arms over her chest, her lips lifting into a small smirk as she does—the tiny grin not quite meeting her too green eyes. "Is it?"

He doesn't answer her, quite certain he isn't meant to; instead he merely raises a brow and waits for her to continue.

"The dark queen is rising…a battle is approaching."

Her words make little sense.

While no expert in the history of her kingdom he knows enough about the evil queen to realize what she's saying is next to impossible. And narrowing his gaze he resists the urge to walk towards her further, reminding himself that it would not be wise to tempt his self-control…with their departure looming in the background his thoughts have been entirely too consumed by her—his desperate urges only growing, his nightly fantasies only intensifying.

It's a fact he's not proud of.

"The queen was defeated." He reminds her somewhat lamely, shaking his head as he tries to place where her melancholy is coming from, while also reminding himself that her unhappiness is of little concern to him.

"Was she?" the princess murmurs the question; and moving away from the window she takes a step towards him, an air of slight defiance surrounding her.

"The stories say she was ended by your own parents' hands…your mother's to be exact…they stopped her darkness from spreading further. Your kingdom is at peace." he says again, warning bells ringing in his ears as he considers the sense of deception that he had noticed clouding the kingdom only days earlier.

She laughs at that, low and dark and not at all like the light and musical sound he had heard the night of the ball; a night that seems as if it had happened ages ago—the feel of her, the scent of her, haunting him constantly. "Those are stories lieutenant… _fairytales_."

"What are you saying?"

He doesn't know why he cares.

Why her words terrify him.

Why he feels the sudden need to protect.

And pushing away the voice in his head that claims to know why...mocking him cruelly for refusing to accept it...he disregards the way his entire being is focused on the young woman in front of him—heart whispering things he doesn't want to hear, head showing him things he doesn't want to see.

Bloody, bloody, hell, _this_ is not his world.

And he tries to ignore the part of him that sparks to life, claiming it belongs, has always belonged, to the enchantress with golden hair and bright green eyes.

He is leaving soon.

And he hates the way everything inside of him dims at the fact; part of him, a selfish part, thinking about what it would be like, _feel like,_ to just take her with him, run away with her…

Make her _his._

"Things aren't as they seem."

_Ignore._

This kingdom's affairs are not his to worry about.

_But she is._

"And if they aren't as they seem then how…how exactly are they?" the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, his question somewhat urgent, his tone concerned.

"My mother has a pure heart…soft…" the sentence trails for a moment and looking down at the ground she shrugs slowly before glancing up at him again—a glimmer of something that strangely resembles disgust shining in her gaze. "_Weak_."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that an evilness that should have been extinguished was really only temporarily dimmed."

"The dark queen?"

"She lives."

And turning from him, her eyes flitting back to the window that looms before them, she lets out a silent almost desperate sigh; her back to him signaling his dismissal.

But not before he hears the quiet almost frightened words that leave her in a soft nearly trembling voice...

"She's coming."

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

His last few days in the kingdom are painful.

The king and queen seem more distracted, the princess keeps to her room more often than not, a greater unease settles over the palace and Killian, aware he's being watched carefully by his brother's too knowing eyes, feels the beginnings of panic start to spread deep into his bones.

They're leaving.

_He's_ leaving.

And he wonders, his entire being perking up as he catches a glimpse of golden hair hurrying down a long corridor, footsteps echoing in the empty hall as they move further away from him, if perhaps their brief visit to the Enchanted Forest has made him a little mad, his head telling him he needs the salt of the air and the crash of the sea—the ocean the best remedy to drive away his too strong feelings for the young and troubled siren.

His heart however, whispers something different.

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

"If I asked you to take me with you would you?"

He's in the stables, preparing to go for a ride when she sneaks up on him. Wearing male attire—ill-fitting pants and a cream-colored blouse— her hair pulled back and a sword at her side, she looks more beautiful to him at that moment than she's ever looked before.

"Your highness?"

"If I asked you to take me away, to let me sail with you on your ship…would you take me?"

"I…I…"

"Would you do it?"

"My duties…"

"I'm not asking about your duties lieutenant I'm asking you if you'd take me away."

"I cannot. Rather, I'm sworn…errrr…_protocol_…"

Her laugh cuts him off, mirthless and dark, and before he can say another word she's turning on her heel and walking out of the stables fast—seemingly taking all the air with her as she goes.

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

Two full days pass by without any sight of her.

And Liam doesn't comment when Killian allows himself rum instead of ale; only raises a brow when he picks up a flask without a word and heads back to their quarters…

His eyes drifting in the direction of the princess' tower.

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

She corners him outside of the great hall.

It's the day before they're scheduled to set sail and he's taking his leave for the evening when she appears seemingly out of nowhere, crowding him abruptly and causing him to falter for a moment—surprise and confusion clouding his brain as everything inside of him stands to attention.

And gods above, he's unsure how he could have missed something that was never even his.

She doesn't say a word as he tenses rigidly, a soft curse slipping past his lips as he tries, in vain, to resist the hold she has over him. Instead she only shifts slightly closer, breathing somewhat heavily, a light blush coloring her cheeks and a soft smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

Eyes widening and pulse racing at the sight, he makes a move to pass by her, his heart clenching a little against his chest at her too close and too sudden proximity—her question from the other day about taking her away replaying in his head and taunting him mercilessly.

And it's only as he's angling himself for the staircase, the need to escape her nearly consuming him, that he allows his gaze to drift and he sees the expression that shadows her face. Eyes narrowed and determination written all over her features, the sight causes him to pause again, his hesitation seemingly giving her the opening she was looking for—hands darting out fast to grab him...

_Trap him._

Pushing him into a shadowed alcove, she takes him by surprise, his grunt of protest as his back hits the wall, head rapping lightly against stone, muffled quickly as she catches his lips with hers.

For a moment he forgets where he is.

Who he is.

_Who she is._

For a moment all he can think about, concentrate on, register…is her.

Her lips on his, warm and tentative.

Her body against his, soft and welcoming.

Her hands roaming freely, quick and curious.

And without meaning to, without wanting to…

He reacts.

How can he not?

Slipping his tongue into her mouth he kisses her back, pulling her against him and appreciating the soft and feminine whimper of surprise as she falls into him willingly; her hands bracing his shoulders, hips tilting seemingly of their own accord and pressing into him, chasing something desperate and dangerous, terrifying and thrilling.

And it's better, so much better—the taste and feel of her—than he'd ever imagined.

Gathering her closer, he whispers her name once against her lips, the sound hot and frantic echoing between them, before deepening the kiss; their tongues moving together slowly, _erotically_, images of hoisting her skirt up and taking her there, against the wall, fogging his brain.

_Take._

_Take._

_Take!_

And he knows it's wrong, knows he should stop, but too weak, too enraptured, he continues to sink into her, taking his fill, his growing hunger and obvious lust evident between them, as she rocks herself into him again and again.

It's too much.

It's not enough.

Until, suddenly…

It's nothing at all.

Quickly, _abruptly_, she breaks the kiss, her breath whooshing out in a huffing pant as her eyes, dazed and somewhat glassy, widen slightly while searching his imploringly.

"I don't know you lieutenant." she breathes it softly, sadly, and drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she swallows once before lowering her eyes down and away from his. "And I certainly don't love you."

It shouldn't hurt so much to hear those words…those _obvious_ words…murmured quietly, truthfully.

Because she doesn't know him, and he doesn't know her.

He'd be a fool to think otherwise.

His time in her kingdom was nothing, merely a handful of days and a whirlwind of lust and duty.

So it shouldn't hurt.

But it does.

Bloody hell it does.

And watching as she backs away, shaking her head slowly, a look too old and painful crossing her delicate features as she puts some space between them, leaving him just as suddenly as she'd came; he fights himself—battling internally as he struggles not to reach out to her, not to pull her to him, not to beg her to stay.

"But I think," she whispers before turning away completely, eyes still cast towards the floor, spine ramrod straight, and voice almost too soft for him to hear, "had I been given the chance…I could have."

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

They leave the next morning.

The princess stays in her room, refusing to send them off.

The king and queen seem almost relieved to see them go.

And the townsfolk wave them away with smiling faces and hearty cheers.

A part of him, the part that has rebelled since the moment he'd set eyes on his princess, darkens a little more with their departure; a selfish urge inside of him wanting to storm the castle, itching to drag her onto the ship and take her for himself—damning who she is, who _he_ is to hell and back...

He wants her.

Every single royal inch of her.

But instead of acting, instead of objecting, rebelling, conquering, he stands by his brother's side and watches as the kingdom gradually gets smaller, fading slowly and disappearing into a light fog as they sail further away; what appears to be a thick and almost ominous looking storm cloud rising from the west and hovering over the kingdom as their ship continues on—the sight sending prickling chills down his spine as he considers the potential evil that lurks over the royal family.

And as the crew continues to bustle around him, the sea air clearing his head and settling into his lungs; eyes still locked on the barest hint of the tower that houses _her_, he lifts a flask of rum to his lips and drinks deeply before putting on the stoic and no-nonsense face of the rigid and loyal naval lieutenant even as he finally, _finally_, acknowledges and embraces the deep longing inside of him that whispers that he'll eventually come back for her—her lips hot on his, her words soft in his ears, her burden weighing heavily on his shoulders, continuing to lure him in…

Ensnared.

Entranced.

Enraptured.

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

Killian Jones is not like other men.

And Princess Emma is not like other women.

And he's nearly certain that despite her status, her parents failures, a rising dark queen, and his brother's loyalty to their own kingdom…

That he's not quite done with her yet.

_****__~K&E~K&E~~K&E~K&E~_

_**Review?!  
**_


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